If Ever Your World Starts Crashing Down
by Laudine
Summary: To the younger students, the new arrivals, she was just Bells Sayre; they never called her Isabel because it sounded like an old lady’s name to them. She was the sometimes-approachable-sometimes-not girl on the verge of something. One-shot.


**Disclaimer: I don't own "X-Men: Evolution," but Isabel Sayre/Sylphide is mine. Oneshot.**

**If Ever Your World Starts Crashing Down**

_Oh no, I see,  
A spider web and it's me in the middle,  
So I twist and turn,  
Here am I in my little bubble,  
Singing I, never meant to cause you trouble,  
And I, never meant to do you wrong,  
And I, well if I ever caused you trouble,  
Oh, no I never meant to do you harm._

-from the song "Trouble" by Coldplay

Thinking back on it, he should have asked Isabel to see what kind of information she could glean from his dreams, to open her subconscious to soak them in and then go to Professor Xavier to sort everything out. At the time, he didn't think she would do such a thing. They could tolerate each other well enough, but one misstep and one could drive the other mad. He had a whole list of words in his head that the Professor had used to describe her behavior: mercurial, impish, and then, from the other day, _tempestuous_.

She had heard him shouting in his sleep on her way to bed one night, and she had knocked on his door. When he hadn't answered, she had dissipated and slipped in through the crack underneath the door. The honey-sweet Fae smell emanating from her—a stink when he went feral—brought him back to reality, subsiding from a sickly into a softer, more subtle scent. When he had opened his eyes he found her standing by the door, her countenance and scent full of both fear and concern. "Are you all right?" she ventured, stepping forward, close to his bed, gently placing her hand on his shoulder.

Maybe he was angry with himself that she had seen it, or that she'd come into his room without his permission, but he roughly plucked her hand off of his shoulder and cast it away as though it were something dirty. And how could she be dirty, she, standing there like some will-o'-the-wisp with the slight glow of silver catching in the moonlight? She, staring at her hand in astonishment, and then her indigo eyes slid up to him, and the glare began to form on her otherwise smooth forehead.

"What did I do?" she demanded.

"Get out," he grumbled, closing his eyes at the pain pounding away in his temples. This was always how it was: things would be good between them, friendly, and the pull of something more, and he would claw the feelings away or she would flit away.

"Well, it sounded like you were throwing down with someone. I thought it was Big, Ugly, and Growly and that he'd broken in or something," she went on, her voice taking on that imperious tone. "I figured I could cut off his air long enough for you to get some good swipes at him. But the best-laid plans of mice and men…"

"_Get out_, Sayre!" he repeated more loudly with a snarl, looking up at her this time with blazing eyes. "Ya talk too much! Go ta bed!"

Her body tensed and she swore at him in French, then dissipated into a thread of silvery vapor and left the way she came. He had to admit she got away with a lot, being that in-between student, ready to graduate college yet still so naïve in some ways, being one of Xavier's first and almost like a child to him. He blamed Charles this time, putting Isabel in the teachers' wing because she was older and needed the quiet to study for classes, being so close that she could hear him. And the way those friends of hers looked at him drove him crazy. And the music…some of it he didn't mind, but the boy bands and that stupid Sean Kingston song to the beat of "Along the Boardwalk" were awful.

The following day she made sure not to speak to him, made a show of ignoring him. It was the least of his worries then.

As he lay in the infirmary after his return from Canada and the surgery to remove the implant in his head, she peered in and was carrying a covered plate and a six-pack of Molson in her hands. So she'd come bearing gifts. An apology?

"It's steak au poivre from La Chinoiserie," she said abashedly. "Medium-rare? That's how I like it. I wasn't sure, so…Anyhow, I don't cook much, so here's your apology dinner."

He watches as she set it down on the table across the hospital bed and as he pulled it across. He lifted the foil off of the plate to find the steak, along with green beans with almonds on them and mashed potatoes loaded with butter and chives.

"A girl after my own heart," he joked, and he was rewarded with a crooked smile. "Seriously, Bells, thanks. It'll help out…"

She nodded in understanding. The healing factor. She sat down and watched as he opened two of the beers, one for him and one for her.

"What did you find up there?"

"A whole world of shit." He took a large gulp of beer, then set the bottle down. "Half-pint and the Elf…they didn't give up on me, Bells. Surprisin', huh?"

She sipped at her beer and shook her head. He knew that Kurt and Kitty were two of her favorites; Evan drove her crazy and Rogue was extremely independent. Maybe it was because they were younger than she was, young enough to be brother and sister to her when she didn't know the other offspring from her estranged father's multiple marriages. Maybe she felt bad for Kurt because he didn't have anyone, really, and she felt that way about Rogue, too. Hell, she could take all of what could be termed the charity cases—Scott and Rogue—home to her maternal grandma's in France and they'd be one of the family by the end of the week. That was just how it was with Véronique, Charles said. Bring home a stray, give the kid a place in the family, and spoil and cosset them rotten.

And that's how it was here with Chuck. And he was a stray, too.

"Your aura is muddy blue, Logan. And a soft lemon yellow. What's the matter?" she asked him.

To confide it to Isabel, to spoiled, shallow, self-absorbed Isabel who was showing uncharacteristic compassion toward him. He opened his mouth, unable to articulate it, but it only came out in one question: "Can you help me find out who did _this_ to me?" And he extended his claws to show her. "And _why_?"

"Oh, Logan." She stood up, brushing her sideswept bangs out of eyes. "I don't know. I mean, I'll _try_. Maybe we'll have to go to France, or Brocéliande, or the Forest of Arden. But wherever we need to go, I'm sure I can help you."

It was different with her, than with Chuck. With Chuck it was fatherly understanding, a desire to know, a desire to help, all that. But with Isabel it was more of wishing to cure the hurt, of wanting to see him whole and happy. Wanting to see him happy?

Isabel Sayre had indeed grown up.

------------

She spent the weekend doing research for him. If Isabel knew anything singular about computers, it was just getting around Professor Xavier's archives. She'd been doing it since sophomore year at St. Catherine of Siena's, and as far as Logan was concerned, she was a pro at it. After all, wasn't that what lit majors did—research?

"I didn't find much of anything," she said. "Some information on Creed, and something about a John Wraith. Do you know him?"

He shrugged and shook his head. She exhaled loudly and stood up from the couch, pulling her heel to one of her glutes to stretch her muscles. "It was worth the effort, Bells," he assured her. "Thanks."

"So was Weapon X out of Canada?" she questioned curiously, a contemplative frown crossing her face.

"Yeah. What about…"

She bit her lip. "Muir Island might have more information, with Canada being a part of the British commonwealth. Professor Xavier could give me access to it. We might be able to get it here at the mansion to save us a trip." She exited the room and made her way to Xavier's office before he could protest. He stood up to follow her, putting a hand on her shoulder to stop her in the foyer.

"Bells, what about your pendulum?" he mentioned.

She considered it for a moment. "It could work, but only after we have more info. It's only for yes and no questions. I…" She trailed off when she saw Evan and Scott come in from outside; Logan knew she still felt a little funny discussing her Fae abilities in front of the other students, because it was just another thing that set her apart, even though it was handy in a battle.

"Heya, Bells," Evan called. "You're not going out?"

"No. I'm just taking a break from a midterm paper I'm working on for my Dickens seminar," she answered glibly.

"Well, we got a competition set up in the Danger Room. Bowling. C'mon, Bells, it'll be fun…" Evan begged, and a smile played on the corners of Isabel's lips.

"Maybe later. I need to talk to Professor Xavier about some things, but I'll be free after dinner. Does that sound okay?" she asked him, and Evan grinned.

"Sure, I'll let the others know. We've all been saying you need to hang with us more, Bells. All you do is study and write papers and go to the fencing club during the week." He twirled his skateboard on the parquet floor, then stopped when Logan glared at him. "So we'll see you later?"

"Sure," Isabel answered, watching as Evan sauntered upstairs. She returned her attention to Logan and tilted her head. "I guess I should go talk with the Professor. Are you going to come play later, too?"

"Nope, that's okay." He could have sworn he saw her eyes dim, and she hurriedly collected herself and put on her best face.

"That's too bad. Well, I should really talk with the Professor. I'll see you later, Logan?" she queried over her shoulder.

"Later," he acknowledged, and she darted away into the hallway to knock on Professor Xavier's door.

He wouldn't see her until a good two weeks later. He didn't know why, but he felt like he had to leave and get her out of his head. After all, she'd be graduating from college soon and would no doubt begin looking for a real job and make her own way in the world. She had too much to offer to remain here, and a girl like her shouldn't hide away here. She deserved to live a normal life, have a fulfilling career, a husband and a family, maybe even move to France to work for her mother's family in whatever business ventures they had, or to finally say good-bye to this world and go to Brocéliande to stay. Yeah, she'd dated some real duds while at Empire State University, but once she got out in the world, she could find someone who'd be good for her. Not him. Not ever.

There would be no "we" in this search for what had happened to him. He had to find it on his own. Let Isabel do her research—it was the least she could offer him. If there was something to go on, then that was all he could ask of her.

He left early that Sunday morning before she had gotten up to go to church.

------------

She knew when he would be coming back. She had an idea of the exact time and everything when she'd brought on a full vision under the full moon. She waited in the garage, working on the paper she had lied to Evan about, and she closed her laptop and hopped out of her SUV when she heard the motorcycle. He groaned when he saw her; she could see the bright lemon yellow with the dark gray overlay in his aura. He was trying to maintain control with _something_, he was scared of losing something, and he was feeling insecure about it, too. But what?

"Why did you leave?" she demanded as he took his bag out of the storage compartment in the back of the bike. He set his jaw; she could see the muscle flexing underneath, and he furrowed his dark brows.

"Why do you care?" he shot back.

"Because I do," was her answer. He growled and bared his teeth, shaking his head.

"Yer stupid to care, Isabel. You should just graduate, go on, move on with yer life. I ain't good fer ya."

It hurt her that he'd said that, like he'd taken a knife and stabbed her in the heart and twisted and twisted, grinning like a maniac at her pain. She stood still, clutching her metallic pink laptop to her chest, and she took a step forward.

"I'm staying, after graduation. Professor Xavier says he needs more instructors because of the new students who want to attend, and I'm thinking about going to grad school. Maybe. But I'm staying."

He stopped dusting off his bike abruptly, as though the news were a shock to him. "I hope it ain't fer me."

"None of the big decisions in my life have been made because of you, Logan," she told him soberly. "I did the research for you, but that was because I wanted to. Believe it or not, you're my friend, and you've been there for me more times than I can count. I thought I'd return the favor. And I want us to start anew after graduation."

"Start again?" He turned to her, his face questioning.

"I want to be a better friend to you," she admitted, her cheeks reddening. He smiled at her, putting his arm around her shoulders as they entered the mansion.

"You've already done that, Bells. And some of our fights have been knock-down, drag-out, but lookin' at 'em now, they're kinda funny, aren't they?"

She had to agree. Looking back at them with an objective, more adult mind, she didn't understand why she had enjoyed baiting him so. Maybe it was because it had seems so easy for him to be the superior, the teacher, running her through Danger Room program after Danger Room program to test her potential, and then after her Fae abilities had fully emerged to see how much she could take. And so she had retaliated in the best way she knew how—with her words, with her gestures and expressions, with the whole ease and grace of movement that her mutation and her Fae heritage gave her. And now…now it didn't seem to matter so much , the things that had occurred. Ever since she had spent that year living in the sorority house and then all the time she could in France because her mother was dying, things had begun to change, her perspective had begun to change. And now they were here, and now she was just weeks from being done, a little over a month and she would have it.

She'd made a choice. She'd chosen Xavier once again. Because it had been the only thing in her life that had ever felt right.

-----------

Her research yielded another name, a name that was easier to trace. A Kenji Oyama, the man who invented the process of binding adamantium to bone. He wanted to leave immediately, to find the man, but she found herself urging him to take a moment and be sensible about it. Nothing was going to be accomplished by just going to Japan with claws drawn, ready to hack the man to pieces.

"Just because he invented it, doesn't mean he had anything to do with what happened to you," Isabel pointed out calmly as he paced the length of the room with his claws drawn and his teeth bared. Somehow she found she wasn't intimidated anymore, mostly because the rage wasn't directed at _her_. "We won't be able to do anything until I'm graduated anyhow. After December tenth, I'm free. If we find anything more in the meantime, we'll just add it to the list and decide on Thanksgiving. But for now, just sit it out, calm down, and weigh your options—_carefully_."

He turned to face her, standing still. She was sitting there Indian style on the couch, like Puck on the tree branch in the high-school production of _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ they'd gone to see Rogue in. Her dark blue eyes were on him, warning him. He sheathed his claws, sat down beside her, and she felt her heart beat faster and she didn't know why. She calmed herself, but she was sure he'd smelled her interest, heard her heartbeat quicken. And then she was sure when he got to the kitchen after all this, he would check the calendar and find the moon was in a waxing phase and smile in spite of himself.

"Back to that other guy. John Wraith. Can we find him?" Logan queried, and when his arm brushed her wrist as he bent over to look at the laptop on the coffee table in front of them, she jumped. He glanced at her with a curious look on his face. She tightened, curled herself into a little ball almost so that they wouldn't be touching in this way, not in this proximity.

"I might be able to use my pendulum," she said. "We can get a world map and narrow it down from there."

He nodded. "Good idea. How 'bout we start with that old atlas in the library?"

She bit her lip and mumbled out a "yeah," then dissipated and took the ductwork up to her room. She went into her top drawer for her silver pendulum, made in Brocéliande, kept in a velvet-lined box because there were times when she was so afraid to use it. It was a beautiful thing to look at; Hank McCoy had turned it over in his hands for some time because he had been entranced by the intricacy of the pattern on the pendulum itself, the triskeles and the fleur de lys that signified it had been made in Brocéliande, the rosettes and the figures of mélusines showing the Brigononens' Fae blood. And then there was the crystal held within the pendulum itself, clear, faceted, like a diamond.

She emerged from her room, clutching it in her hand, nearly bumping into Amara and Jubilee, and she stepped aside with a sheepish mumble of sorry. To the younger students, the new arrivals, she was just Bells Sayre; they never called her Isabel because it sounded like an old lady's name to them. She was the sometimes-approachable-sometimes-not girl on the verge of something, the girl who had her life before her and who could choose to leave this place. And the glow in the moonlight put them off, and the way she would sit under the full moon to catch its rays and bring on visions no doubt creeped them out, too. But what else was new? Everyone had some part of their mutation—or something else—that wasn't exactly the nicest. It could have been worse: she could have been like Rogue with poison skin that would never allow her the simple comfort of touch; she could have been blue and furry and resemble a little demon like Kurt; she could have eternal periodontal disease like Toad or be mistaken for a crystal meth addict like Quicksilver.

She entered the library to find Logan in there with the atlas and Kitty and Rogue in there with Scott and Jean doing homework. Isabel groaned inwardly and turned around to leave, but Rogue laughed and called out, "C'mon back, Bells! We've seen it all before!"

She turned on her heel and entered the library once more, this time letting the pendulum hang so that they could all see it. Somehow, with the four here, it wasn't so bad. Somehow, seeing them there doing their homework and letting her and Logan be as though this were an everyday thing was reassuring. Jean lifted her head from her calculus and gave Isabel a reassuring smile; in a way, Jean understood what it was like because her abilities seemed to have no limits and she hated talking about it with anyone else. But then these mutants had developed together and were still testing the waters together, and she had been there alongside them, just a few steps ahead until returning from France last summer, when the moon had shined down on in Brocéliande and forced the human mutant and Fae chromosomes to merge and to fuse the two sides of her heritage together. It was, as the Professor had said lovingly to her when she returned home shining like a beacon in the moonlight, a blessing, not a curse, her mother's last gift to her.

"Ya ready, Bells?" Logan asked her, and she nodded. He pulled out a chair to one of the tables for her and set the book down on the ground before it; she stood up on the chair and suspended the pendulum over the map of the world, wrapping its chain once around her right forefinger. "Half-pint," she heard Logan order brusquely, "check the door an' make sure none of the trainees are comin'. We don't want 'em to get freaked out…or for Bells to lose her concentration."

Kitty stood up and went to the closed door, phasing through it to make sure no one was coming. "Coast clear!" she called as she phased back in.

Isabel let the pendulum's swinging slow until it hung perfectly still, and then she closed her eyes and cleared her mind until only the question remained: _Where is John Wraith?_ She felt the pendulum swinging, until it stopped at North America. She opened her eyes and gasped. "Holy shit!" Scott whispered.

They narrowed down the location to the United States, and then to Nevada, and then to Las Vegas, and then to a certain area of it. "Okay, Bells, that's enough," Logan pronounced, picking up the book and snapping it shut. "Thanks."

She stepped down from the chair and returned it to its place, and she noticed his dark eyes were on her as she did so. She watched as he put the atlas away, and he smiled at her wanly.

"So now we got a name," he said as she wound the chain of her pendulum around her hand. "We gonna sit tight?"

"Exactly," she replied. "Just a little longer."

------------

By Thanksgiving they had their plans set. He sat with her that Friday as she took out the notes she had made on what she had been able to gather on John Wraith.

He was a teleporter, and a very powerful one, and he also had some sort of regenerative factor which kept him in his physical prime. He had worked for the Canadian government some time ago and had left. Now he owned a small-time strip club outside of Vegas.

"I wanna go an' see him. Ask questions, see if he knows me," Logan told her as he poured himself some more coffee and put the glass coffeepot back. It was just him, her, the Professor, Hank, Kurt, Rogue, and Scott; they'd had a decent little dinner yesterday and now the fridge was stocked with leftovers that would keep them set for the weekend.

"When?" Isabel asked him, pulling up a journal article from the library database at Empire State for her final paper in her French medieval lit class.

"After yer done. Before Christmas. You stayin' here for Christmas?" he inquired, returning to his seat at the table and reaching for the morning paper.

"I don't know. Mémé, Tante Aurélie, Sylvie, and Cyril are coming to see me walk, and then we're having a small party here. You _will_ be here for that, won't you, Logan?" she blurted incongruously.

"'Course, Bells. Someone's gotta keep those kids in line."

She rolled her eyes as she saved the article to her Adobe file. "Honestly, Logan, they're not too bad. Except for that whole 'Bayville Sirens' stunt. I've never seen anything so stupid and idiotic in my life. First, it was dangerous. Second, they looked like hooches in those patent leather getups. Jean came bitching to me that morning after Scott helped her and Amara. I told her not to worry about it—Scott was helping her because he's their friend, not because he wants to be a knight in shining armor. Of course, Jean didn't listen to me. She never does."

"Kitty didn't, either, and she usually listens to you."

"None of them did," Isabel sighed. "Well, it's all over and done now. I find myself surprised at what a tight leash I was kept on compared to them, how strict my mother was and how the Professor did his best to keep it everything very structured so that I could control my mutation." She frowned. "Most of it was Maman, though. And Professor Xavier knew that." Here she closed her laptop. His colors were deep red today, still with a little bit of that dirty gray overlay. And then he leaned forward and she could catch the smell of cheap Suave shampoo—the ocean scent—and coffee and motor oil from working on his bike earlier.

"When I go to Vegas, come with me," he said succinctly.

This took her aback. "Why?"

"Because you've helped me keep my head through this, an' you'll help there. You found it, an' I think you got a right to see how this plays out," he answered.

She frowned. She opened up her laptop and opened up her email.

"What're ya doin'?" he asked her as she began to type quickly.

"Emailing Mémé to tell her I'll be staying here for Christmas," she answered. "Just a minute—I'm in French mode." When she hit "send" she glanced back up at him. "So when will you want to go?"

"After yer grad party. An' you guys'll do Christmas when they're here?"

"Most likely."

"You start shoppin'?" he asked her.

"I did…not that it means anything to _you_. You'll probably wait till the last minute, anyway." She closed her laptop. "Now back to travel plans. I don't sleep on the road and I don't stay in seedy motels. Super Eights or Motel Six only if we're _desperate_. When we get to Vegas we can check into an extended stay and buy our own food. I can get discounts through my credit card company. And no motorcycles. It's too cold and if you want to drive we'll take my car."

He snorted. "That's a tall order, Bells. Or a bunch of tall orders."

"Well, _you_ don't like to fly commercial airlines, so…"

"Okay, okay! Flamin' hell, Bells, it's enough to drive a sane person crazy!" he exclaimed, exasperated, getting up to put his coffee cup into the dishwasher.

She shrugged. "You can always take Kurt with you."

And when she saw him tense, she knew she had hit a nerve.

-------------

"So like, you and Mr. Logan are going to Vegas?" Kitty asked, flopping down on the couch beside Isabel to watch the _General Hospital_ episode of the day that had been DVRed.

"In a few weeks," Isabel answered.

"So did you get a ring and everything? I mean, Kurt said you guys were hanging out like, a lot, but don't you think it's a little soon? He gets _so_ grumpy in the mornings, you know? How could you even talk to him in the mornings? And whose room would you sleep in, unless…" Her eyes brightened. "Isabel, can I have your room? I like the furniture…and I like pink, so…"

Isabel turned to her, aghast. What had they been gossiping about? She was going to kill Kurt. First, he had eaten all of her Nutella—_again_—and now _this_? "Kitty, I just turned twenty-two. What makes you think I'm looking to get married, especially to Mr. Logan? "

Kitty shrugged and offered her some red licorice out of the package she had carried in. Isabel took one; a peace offering, maybe? "Oh, I don't know. He's just been so nice to you in the past few months, and you guys used to hate each other. So what happened?"

Isabel decided it was best to be honest. "I'm helping him, Kitty. Like I should have done all along."

Kitty chewed thoughtfully on her licorice. "Maybe. But it's a lot nicer now with you guys not arguing so much. He likes you, Bells. You should see his face when he talks about you even though he tries to hide it. He really thinks it's great you're staying. And so do I."

"Why is that, Kitty?" Isabel laughed.

"_Because_, dummy, no one else here has clothes that are about my size. What did you think?"

Indeed. What _had _she thought?

----------

"So I told Kurt the truth and the poor thing looked at me with these sad eyes and I _couldn't_ stay mad at him," Isabel told Logan as he was in the process of changing the oil in her car for her. "He was _so scared_. I felt so bad."

"Ya better toughen up if ya wanna teach the elf, Bells," Logan remarked from underneath her car. "Gimme the filter, will ya?"

She handed him the filter and continued talking. "But can you imagine—you and me, _married_? It would be such a joke! Our kids would be like little midgets!"

"How tall's yer dad, Bells?"

She thought for a moment. "Almost six feet."

"They could be taller."

"Don't even think about it, Logan. I'm not getting married anytime soon…" she began, her cheeks beginning to redden and the air molecules within her wanting to split into mist.

"I know. The minute the dust settles, they think somethin's up. They thought there was somethin' between 'Ro an' me for awhile."

"But there isn't."

"My point exactly. Kids. They got nothin' else to do, so they start playin' matchmaker an' it starts rumors." He crawled out from underneath her car. "There. All done. Saves ya a trip to the dealership in the snow. I don't want ya drivin' in this weather."

"You don't want me driving?" she echoed, disbelief etching her face.

"I wouldn't want any o' my girls drivin'," he explained. "An' I won't fuck shit up on your car on purpose so you'd have to pay me for repairs, darlin'."

"Here's the money for the oil and filter. I appreciate it," she said, pulling a fifty out of her pocket and trying to hand it to him. He put it back in her hand and closed her fingers over it.

"Don't worry 'bout it," he assured her. "You've done a lot to help me out. Consider it like ya called in the favor." He wiped the oil from his hands and his face as she pocketed the money. "Now I gotta go upstairs an' get cleaned up for trainin'. What're you gonna do?"

She checked the silver watch that adorned her left wrist. "Proofreading three papers for Scott, Evan, and Jean and then trying to teach Bobby Drake how to time shooting his ice balls at targets. Fun and games."

"Fun an' games, Bells," he grinned, ruffling her dark mahogany hair and holding the door open for her. She decided to go upstairs via the ductwork and rematerialized in her room. In the mirror, she could see that her face was flushed and her eyes were bright, even against the normal fairness of her skin. What was going on with them? Why did she want to spend all of the time she could with him when a few months ago she couldn't stand him? And being one of "his girls?" She wasn't anyone's girl—she was Isabel first and last, mistress of her own fate. She didn't know what any of it meant, but somehow she knew that things between them were beginning to change and that the end result might be something she wasn't ready for at all.

Fin.


End file.
